2013 C. Phil Brunson
A thought, alone in my head,
Looking for a way out,
To only bounce around.
Gathering weight, worry, and speed.
Like a small water droplet into hail.
The thought wants action, and revenge,
It will find an outlet anywhere,
To get out of it’s dark, moist, dungeon.
Immoral, and the unspeakable acts,
Are the most likely outcomes to it’s end.
In creeps the What if’s, and the How’s,
Why me, and how can it Be’s.
Only to add to the craziness,
Already stirring, in my sick, twisted, head.
Must purge soon, before I go out of my mind.
A call, A text, a random person,
Anything to purge this 1000 pound thought.
Once out, this thought, once trapped,
Now deflated, to a managed size,
Workable and manageable, now to find peace.